


Facade

by BubbleGumLizard, ImpishDesign



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Depression, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Post-Episode: s04e03 The Final Problem, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-23
Updated: 2017-04-23
Packaged: 2018-10-23 00:19:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10708218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BubbleGumLizard/pseuds/BubbleGumLizard, https://archiveofourown.org/users/ImpishDesign/pseuds/ImpishDesign
Summary: When Mycroft falls to pieces, a certain DI tries to put him back together again.HIATUS





	Facade

Mycroft hesitated, his hand on the door knob.  “Just go in,” he told himself in an undertone.   _Yes, go in and show how weak you really are,_ a nasty voice in his head added.  He shook his head, trying to clear it.  This wasn’t him, this needy, weak mess of a man.  He needed to do something to get everything back to normal, to salvage his real self from the disaster he had become.

“Just do it,” he muttered to himself, but he couldn’t open the door.  His hand wouldn’t turn the knob, no matter how hard he tried to make it move.

How had he become _this_ ?  He knew when it happened, could pinpoint almost the exact moment, though he didn’t like to think about it.   _That’s your problem, you refuse to think about anything important,_ the internal voice told him.   _One of your many problems, you worthless--_

“Alright?” a kind voice asked as a comforting hand clasped Mycroft on the shoulder, interrupting his internal monologue of hate.  Mycroft turned and attempted to smile at Greg Lestrade, whose presence was dragging his mind to what was currently happening, away from the horrors of the past and Mycroft’s own mind.

“I shouldn’t be here,” Mycroft said quietly, his internal voice railing at him for showing such vulnerability.  These intrusive thoughts showed how far he had sunk, how deeply flawed he had become; never before had his inner monologue been so emotional or irrational.  Since he had learned to suppress his emotions as a child, they had never bothered him.

“Nonsense.  You _need_ to be here,” Greg told him firmly, giving his shoulder a friendly squeeze

Mycroft closed his eyes, allowing his friend’s touch to ground him in reality.  “This place isn’t for me.”

“It really is, Mycroft.  You need this, whether you’d like to admit it or not.”  Greg’s hand was still on Mycroft’s shoulder, grounding him.

“I’m not one of these people, one of these…” Mycroft trailed off, not wanting to give voice to the horrible things going through his mind.  Greg smiled, undoubtedly knowing exactly what was going through Mycroft’s mind.  He always seemed to know, always seemed to be there when Mycroft needed him, especially lately.  Gratitude for his friend filled Mycroft, along with a fondness that he hadn’t felt for anything in many years.   _You really are weak now, with your_ friend. _Pathetic._

“You’re not ‘one of’ anything, Mycroft.  You’re just a man, just you, and you need to do this.  I know you like to pretend that you’re above it all, but you aren’t.  You’re a thinking, breathing, _feeling_ man.”  Greg’s voice was kind and firm at the same time and Mycroft marveled at it; it was the sort of human interaction that Mycroft could never master, no matter how informed he was on the inner workings of the human mind.

_There’s a lot about the human mind you’ll never be able to master.  Like when you--_  This time Mycroft cut it off, not wanting to know what atrocity it was going to remind Mycroft of this time.

“Mycroft?  You drifted away there for a moment.” Greg asked, searching Mycroft’s eyes for something and looking saddened by what he saw.

“You don’t understand,” Mycroft told him, sure that he sounded like a petulant teenager, but unable to stop himself.  

“No, I don’t.  That’s why we’re here.”  Mycroft’s brain froze from the honesty, the lack of an attempt to lie in order to make Mycroft feel like he wasn’t alone, like everyone else had been doing.

_He has the patience of a saint to deal with your nonsense,_ the nasty voice told Mycroft for the tenth time that day.   _One day he’ll realize your pathetic brand of friendship isn’t worth it and you’ll never see him again_.

“Hey,” Greg said, as if able to hear the thoughts.  “I’m here, remember?  I told you I’d be here with you and here I am.  Whatever you need, I’ll be here.”  
“Why?” Mycroft asked in a small voice.   _Pathetic is the adjective you want_ , the voice added helpfully.

“Because you’re my friend and I care about you, Mycroft.  You know that.  Or you should, I’ve told you enough times.”  

_Is that a hint of annoyance I detect?_ the voice teased, sending a jolt of panic through Mycroft.  After a moment, he realized that Greg was smiling, though, which would imply that he was pleased about something.  Exactly what he had to be pleased about, Mycroft wasn’t sure.  Mycroft himself was positive that this whole experience was an attempt to discover a new torture method for “minor government officials” and so far it was a success.

Mycroft sighed and looked back at the door.  Greg was right, he just needed to get it over with.  All he had to do was walk through that door.  Why couldn’t he just get it over with?  He ran the country, he should be able to conquer this.   _But you can’t.  Must be losing your touch._

He took a deep breath and made a move to turn the knob . . . and still couldn’t.  “This won’t really change anything,” he said to Greg, a feeling of helplessness overwhelming him.

“I disagree.  I think it will change everything.”

“Even if it does, who’s to say it will change things for the better?”  His voice still sounded small, _pathetic_ to his ears.

“Nothing can be worse than this.”  Greg’s voice sounded hurt and once again Mycroft was reminded that he was hurting the few people who actually cared for him.   _That’s nothing new.  You always push away the only people who love you._

This newest ridiculousness encouraged Mycroft to close his eyes and steel himself; Greg didn’t _love_ Mycroft, he was just a good friend.  “If this is what you want, Greg, I’ll do it.”

Greg chuckled humorlessly.  “Not really the right motivation, but we can work on that.  For now, let’s just go inside.”

With a deep breath and a feeling like he was about to destroy everything good remaining in his life, Mycroft opened the door and stepped through it.

**Author's Note:**

> Concept by ImpishDesign  
> Writing by BubbleGumLizard


End file.
